Icarus
by BetaRayThorse
Summary: Brothers and sisters, if someone is caught in a sin, you who live by the Spirit should restore that person gently. But watch yourselves, or you also may be tempted. Galatians 6:1. In which, as a priest, it's Pucci's job to kill demons, yet he's drawn to a certain vampire.
1. Genesis

When he was fourteen, an Angel of the Lord came to Pucci in the dead of night. The room filled with light and woke the sleeping teen. Pucci took one look at the Holy Being before feeling a burning sensation throughout his body and shielding his eyes. Startled and horrified by the Angel, his heart was beating so fast Pucci felt like it could explode. The Angel had four different animalistic faces. Its core body had wings and was surrounded by five rotating rings. Its entire body was covered in eyes.

"Be not afraid, Enrico Pucci," the Angel said.

It spoke with a hundred voices. Pucci peaked out from behind his fingers, then quickly covered his eyes again. He found it very hard not to be afraid.

"The Lord has a calling for you. You will join the church as a priest, and you will devote your life to serving Him."

Pucci couldn't respond. Try as he might, he couldn't get a thank you from his lips or get his brain to form a more coherent response. The Angel didn't wait around for him. It tucked its wings around itself, the rings began to spin faster, and then it disappeared, leaving young Enrico Pucci alone.

The next morning, when he told his parents and sister what had happened last night, they were overjoyed. Perla told him how excited she was to see him in a cassock. It was to be expected. Pucci's family was devoutly religious. There was a Pope on their family tree, and Pucci had also shown an interest in the church as long as he could remember. His Bible was filled with bookmarks. Every Sunday, he absorbed the sermon like a sponge. He would do well.

The Pucci's were a wealthy family, and while their relatives in Italy were more powerful than their American counterparts, they were still influential. If his own intelligence and faith wasn't enough, his last name alone was enough to guarantee him a good spot in the Catholic Church.

* * *

When he was fifteen, Pucci accidentally heard a secret that would change his life.

He was helping clean the church when a woman came in, desperate for a confession, and she confessed before Pucci could stop her. She told him she had given birth to a stillborn. She had swapped the dead infant with Pucci's biological brother. The Pucci's thought their other son was dead while the woman got to raise him.

Her son's name was Wes.

It was the same name as Perla's boyfriend.

He was bound by his faith to keep her secret, yet he could not turn his head the other way and let the couple commit incest. Pucci did the only thing he could think of doing. He paid a man to break them up.

It went horribly. Wes was hung and his house was burned with his parents inside. Perla jumped off a cliff, taking a part of Pucci with him. Pucci held her dead body, screamed, and wanted to yell at God for letting his sister die. He wondered, why? There were countless possibilities that brought him to where he was. He had been sent an Angel to announce his call to priesthood, but why didn't He give the two lovers a sign that they were related? Why was Wes taken and not him? Perhaps if he had been born with a lighter skin tone or a normal foot he would have been taken, and Pucci had no interest in romance or lust, so the problem would have never occurred. There were thousands of coincidences that led to the tragedy, and changing anyone of them could have prevent Perla's death.

Pucci would never be able to look at the world in the same way.

Wes was sent to a hospital. Pucci was there when he awoke. Bolder, willing to bend rules and forever more lacking something vital inside, Pucci told him everything. He wondered if that sin would damn him in the future.

It never would.

He offered to let his long lost brother kill him if he thought it was his just punishment. Instead, Wes screamed and sobbed into Pucci's chest, unable to hurt someone Perla loved dearly.

Wes had nothing left. His parents had been murdered. His home was burned down. His girlfriend was taken from him, as was his peace of mind. Wes was diagnosed with PTSD, and one quiet night before Pucci left for seminary school he'd confess that he never stopped reliving that day.

With nowhere else to go, Wes went home with the Pucci's when he left the hospital. His parents were mourning the lost of their daughter, and the news that they had a long lost son was a welcomed distraction. Wes struggled to settle into his new life. The family cared for him like he was their own. They couldn't blame him for what happened. One night he left the house with the intent to kill the man member who killed Perla, but Pucci stopped him. When words weren't enough, he barred the door with his body.

Wes flipped him off, but he went back to sleep.

The murderer was executed, but it didn't sate Wes's anger. Pucci often heard him screaming in his sleep. He would pray for his brother, but his prayers went unanswered.

Wes would move out the day he turned eighteen. He didn't leave them his new address.

* * *

When he was twenty-five, Pucci entered priesthood. His parents attended the ceremony.

Perla had wanted to see this, Pucci thought. He cried later that night.

* * *

Pucci was twenty-six when he killed his first demon.

Deep down, Pucci took some delight in the ridding the world his wickedness. Seeing demons in all their wickedness and filthiness reminded him how good of a man he was. While there was a local paladin, Pucci only called him if it was too much for him to handle.

Paladins were on an entirely different level than other clergymen when it came to taking care of demons. They had devoted their life to it. In exchange, the Lord had blessed them with being able to manifest their soul in the form of a Stand. They used it to fight the Stands of the witches and vampires.

Pucci received a call at three in the morning. He was still half-asleep when he answered, but after hearing Wes's voice on the other side, he was wide awake.

His brother had returned home to find a demon in his house. He had done the natural thing and called his priest bother. This did not surprise Pucci. Wes lived in Hell. All that anger and misery was like honey for demons.

Wes gave Pucci his address. He arrived there thirty minutes later. Wes unlcoked the door. His apartment was filled with trash, and smelled like sulfur. In his living room was a red figure roughly the size of a small dog. It had the lower body of goat, the upper body of a human, and three different horned, rotating heads. Upon seeing Pucci, it let out a horrible, unearthly screech, then darted towards the lighter of the two twins. Wes knelt down and clutched his ears. Pucci aimed his gun and the demon and pulled the trigger. It disintegrated into smoke.

It was not the last time Wes called. Every time, it was from a different number.


	2. Biting into the Apple

Pucci was still twenty-eight when he was called to the Joestar Mansion.

Pucci had been a priest for three years now, and while priesthood was supposed to be an uplifting, wonderful experience, and no matter how much he tried to live that life, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the depressing. Humans were pathetic creatures. A mother had come crying to him and asked him to talk to her daughter, who was seeing a foreign boy who did not believe in virginity until marriage. Pucci had obliged and talked to her, but she didn't even pretend to listen. She ended up pregnant. The two were quickly married, and Pucci hadn't heard anything pleasant about their marriage.

He was friends with a married couple in his church. They liked to go bowling on Tuesdays. One day, a man came into confession and told him he was sleeping with the wife. Pucci continued to go bowling with them, but all their interactions became framed in a different light. When the woman checked her phone and smiled, Pucci often wondered if she was texting another man.

There was an alcoholic man who had tried to give up alcohol six times. He would come to Pucci and talk about how God had given him the wisdom to see how drinking was destroying his life and how God had given him the strength to put down the bottle. He'd be sober for three weeks, sometimes even get a job, before he started drinking again.

Yet, there were people who would kill others because they kissed someone who appeared to be of a different race.

Humanity was sinful, pathetic, and weak. Pucci didn't understand why God made humans. Yet, when such thoughts came to his mind, Pucci tried to think of beauty. He had to find the goodness in all things.

Pucci was acquainted with most of the Joestars. George and his two adult sons, at least while they weren't away for college, were involved in his church. George's donations to the church were always appreciated. Jonathan was a lovely man with a heart as big as his father's. It was Dio who really interested Pucci, however.

When Dio found time, he would talk to Pucci after the sermon about anything and everything, and Pucci felt pulled towards the man in a way he couldn't explain. There was a brilliance to him. Mankind were sheep. They obeyed their Shepard and staid in their flock, but not Dio. They had only spoken to each other a few times, but Pucci could tell that Dio would go his own way and accomplish things no one even thought of before.

He was one of the most beautiful men Pucci had ever seen. Surely painters and sculptors would bid on who got to immortalize his beauty.

He also had three moles on his ear. The man was loved by the devil and somehow managed to thrive in upper class society. There was intelligence in every word he said and action he talked. Pucci looked forward to the day when he finished college and he got to know the man better.

It had been Dio who made the call informing Pucci about his father's state. This surprised Pucci for two reason. He was told George was possessed. Good men like George did not get possessed naturally. Demons were attracted to tortured men like his brother, not selfless men who took in the son of another and raised him like he was his own. Someone had made a pact with the devil for this.

Luckily, there was an easy test to see if someone had offered a piece of their soul to a demon. It would leave a mark on the body. Pucci found himself eager to find out who the wicked man was, and he regretted this.

Dio and Jonathan were waiting for him when he arrived. Jonathan was relieved to see him and Dio was not looking at the priest, but the exhaustion on their bodies and faces could not be missed. Pucci felt for them. God took people back to Him without consideration for those they would leave behind, and worse of all, he did it all without warnings. No one knew when their loved ones would die.

He had tried many times to find some hint in past events that would foreshadow Perla's death. He was never able to.

"Father, thank you for coming!" Jonathan greeted him.

"If you can save him, we'll be indebted to you," Dio said politely. "Father means the world to us."

"It's my duty and joy to help in anyway I can. Has George gotten any better?"

One of the servants opened the door, and the trio stepped inside. Pucci loved the mansion. It reminded him of his childhood home. He had always had a taste for luxury. They began to climb the giant staircase.

"Worse. We've hired doctors and nurses to stay with him, but no matter what they do, nothing seems to help," Jonathan explained. "I thought it might be a possession. It doesn't make much sense, but what harm is there in checking?"

"Just don't get you hopes up, Jojo," Dio said. "Like you said, it's unlikely. I say this only to spare you false hope."

"Does your father have any enemies?"

Something in the air shifted. Jonathan glanced at Dio out of the corner of his eye. Subtly, Dio's hand on the staircase rail squeezed it. When Jonathan turned his attention back to Pucci, his amiable nature was back. If Pucci had been a fool, he could have sworn he imagined the disturbance.

That piqued his interest.

"Father is a kind man. I can't imagine anyone hating him."

"Dio's right. The years I've been here, I haven't heard complain or rant about him."

Pucci nodded. "I see."

They came to the bedroom. Dio knocked, waiting a few seconds, then cracked the door open.

"Father?" he called. There was no response other than the faint rustling of sheets. "He must be sleeping."

"You two wait outside. I won't be more then a couple of minutes."

"Are you sure?" Jonathan asked. "I'm no holy man, but if it is a demon and you're in there alone.."

Pucci smiled. "I will be fine, thank you."

"Let's wait downstairs, Dio."

They left him. Pucci stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him.

The room was cold, and it reeked of bodily fluids with a hint of sulfur. George was lying in the large bed in the middle of the room. He was tossing and turning. He was sweating, pale, and every so often, Pucci would catch him mumbling to himself.

Pucci sat down on the bed. He put his hand on George's forehead. He was burning up. Gently, Pucci placed his pointer finger on his eye, and he pulled down his eyelid.

George didn't wake.

The priest removed the cross from around his neck, and he dangled it in font of George's eyes. His pupils rolled from the corner of his eyes to staring directly at Pucci. The whites of his eyes flickered red. Then, George howled, covered his face with one hand, and slapped Pucci with the other.

He flinched. George tried to get out of bed, but before he could get up, Pucci sat down on his torso. George trashed about, but the priest didn't budge.

Pucci wasn't a fan of exorcisms. Thanks for modern technology, he could kill most demons from a distance with a bullet. Exorcisms were always dirtier.

"Leave, demon. In the name or the Lord, I command you to leave this man."

George screamed. From his mouth came a black mist, and it gradually took on a form. George's body went limp, and his head hit his pillow with a gentle thud. The demon finished taking shape, and lion claws dug into the mattress. His back right paw was on George's stomach, and red blotches appeared on his nightgown.

The demon hissed. It had George's head on a lion's body covered in spikes, and from his back sprouted two leathery bat wings. It had the tail of a scorpion. It was so close to him that Pucci could see its body rise and fall as it breathed. It was showing its sharp teeth. Pucci pitied it. It was evil incarnate. It was filth.

It tried to swipe its tail at Pucci. Before it could, he pulled his gun out of his holster and shot it. Tears rolled down the demon's face, and then it's body turned to smoke.

Pucci adjusted his collar. He lifted up up George's night shirt to check the wound. It wasn't deep enough to require stitches, but he would still leave him some holy water for the wound. He said a quick prayer for him before leaving.

Jonathan and Dio were waiting for him downstairs. Pucci's mind was racing as he tried to figure out who could have summoned the demon.

"Father Pucci! Are you alright?" Jonathan asked.

"I'm just fine. You were smart to call me. You father was possessed, but I have taken care of it. He should start getting better."

"Thank you!" Jonathan shouted.

He was crying. The giant of a man gave him a hug, and a part of Pucci revolted at its warmth. Jonathan was a kind, honorable man. Pucci didn't understand how men like him remained untainted by the world, especially compared to the monster he had just seen. After a brief moment, he relaxed into the touch, and he found Jonathan moving away too soon.

"Sorry. Please, is there anyway I can repay you?"

Pucci smiled. "You don't owe me anything, but if it would make you feel better, the church is always accepting donations."

"I understand. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I will never forget this."

He had heard similar things so many times that he'd gone numb to it. What did delaying the inevitable ever do? His father would still die. Whoever cursed him would still hold a grudge.

His gaze shifted to Dio. Like Jonathan, he looked overjoyed, but Pucci remembered the glance he and Jonathan shared earlier.

"Dio, may I speak to you alone, for a moment?" Pucci asked.

Dio raised an eyebrow. "Alone? What do you want to talk about that you can't say in front of Jojo?"

"It's alight," Jonathan said quickly. "I want to see our father anyway. I'll leave you two alone."

He left. For someone who's father he just saved, he wasn't happy to be alone with Pucci.

"What do you want?" Dio asked.

"Will you turn around?"

"What's this about?"

"Please. Turn around and left up the back of you shirt."

"Why would I do something like that? You're not making any sense."

"Are you going to make me say it?"

"I'm not doing that unless you give me a reason."

"Innocent men don't have to hide demonic contracts."

Though he would never preform any acts himself, knowledge of the satanic and occult was a part of his education during seminary school. In return for skin, humans could make a contract with a demon, and while they were upholding their side of the bargain, they would get to taste the human's blood and flesh. The face would be given for power. Feet would be marked for life. The back carved into for an act.

The change in Dio Brando's persona was instant. He went from a nobleman to a wounded animal, and Pucci could see the gears in his head turning as he tried to think of the best way to handle the situation. He gritted his teeth. Pucci saw him look at the gun on his hip.

"How'd you know?" Dio spat.

"I got lucky," Pucci lied.

Pucci was good at expecting the worst from people, and Dio seemed like the kind of person who no longer cared for his soul.

"You tell anyone, and I'll ruin you. What are you going to do? Report me to the church?"

He should. Pucci should let let the higher ups try him for his crimes. He was tempted to, but even know, Pucci felt a pull towards Dio and didn't want to risk him being locked away or worse.

Besides, Dio was one person. Why was it wrong to let him go when the rich did nothing to help the dying poor?

"No. Just know that I know."

Dio opened his mouth to say something else, but he was interrupted.

"Is everything alright?" Jonathan asked from the top of the stairs. He was back from visiting George.

"No, Jonathan. Dio and I were just having a chat. You have a remarkable brother."

Dio was smirking.

* * *

Dio began to spend more time with him. He tracked Pucci down whenever he could, and Pucci spared the time when he could. Dio talked about law classes. Pucci enjoyed hearing about the ridiculousness of it all and listening to Dio's rich voice.

Dio died in a house fire a month later, along with with George. Pucci spoke at their funeral. Jonathan sobbed, but he didn't seem surprised by the tragedy. He didn't ask why some people died young and people who were worthless lived long lives.

The night after Dio was buried, Pucci volunteered to watch the graveyard for the night. The usual paladin was more than happy to give him his shift.

Sometimes, people didn't stay dead. Dio had bartered with his soul once. Pucci wondered if he would do it again. He hoped he would. Dio died too son. In preparation for what he thinks will happened, Pucci had brought In the meantime, had purchased a chicken and brought it with him. It was currently tied to a tree by its foot. While he waited, he sat down with a nice book about church scandals and sipped sweet tea.

Three hours before dawn, Pucci heard a faint scratching sound. He followed it to the source, the plot of land in front of Dio's gravestone. The anticipation ate away at Pucci. Soon, a few fingers stuck out of the ground. The sight of them made Pucci want to puke. They were contorted in weird ways, and patches of skin and muscle were missing. He could see the white of bone and in some parts. The fingernails were longer and sharper, looking like they should belong to a beast rather than a human.

Pucci grabbed a shovel and helped Dio dig himself out.

The undead man was a mess. All his joints were twisted in the wrong ways. Most of his hair was missing. The nice clothes he had been buried in were torn by his disfiguration. His bottom lip had been bitten many times. When they got him out of the ground, he had to lay down, unable to get his body to move correctly to even sit up. Dio was not breathing.

"Wry..." Dio moaned. Speaking left him in pain. He tilted his head backwards to look at Pucci. "Pucci... Have you come to kill me?"

It was as he spoke that Pucci got glimpse of his fangs and knew what he was. Dio had become a vampire, and he found a strange beauty in that. His heart was racing, and that scared him.

"Should I not?" Dio growled at him. "In your current state, you can't stop me." Even if vampires were stronger than the typical demon.

"You would have killed me by now if you wanted to. Why haven't you?"

He should, but he had to know why Dio would give up is humanity to come back . The mystery clawed at him. When it was his time to go, Pucci would go peacefully.

"Why did you sell your soul, Dio? Is coming back as a vampire better than being dead?"

He had to know. The mystery clawed at him. When it was his time to go, Pucci would go peacefully.

Dio laughed. It awoke sleeping birds, and they're cries echoed after him.

"I won't die. Never."

"Why?" Pucci prodded.

"You want to know, don't you?" Dio's gaze hardened. "I'll tell you and only you. I will rise above all of humanity. I will understand why some people are born into poverty while others are born with a spoon in their mouth. I will figure out why the world turns and I will become the master of it all. That's why, Pucci."

"I want to see that," Pucci said.

If anyone could find out why Wes was the baby swapped at the hospital instead of himself, it would be the mess of flesh in front of him because Dio was not a sheep like the rest of humanity. He went over to where the chicken was and untied it. It squirmed around in his arms, but Pucci held it tightly. He went back over to Dio. He held the chicken's neck with one hand, and with the other, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a long box. He flipped it open. Dio was watching him. Inside was a sharp, rectangular knife without any flaws. He took it, letting the box fall to the ground, and he cut the chicken's knife in one precise stroke. He then held it by its feet and let the blood drain onto Dio.

It was amazing the effect the blood had. Before he eyes, he could see Dio's body righting itself. His skin grew back. Joints twisted back into their correct position. His face regained its color.

"There's an abandoned house a mile west from here. It's white with broken windows. You can stay in there through the day, but by the next dawn, I want you out of my parish. Reports of a vampire here would be troublesome, to say the least. Return to me when you have found the answers to you questions."

Pucci knew what he was doing was wrong, but doing the right thing and killing Dio was unthinkable.

Carefully, and after stumbling a few times, Dio stood. His red eyes were piercing.

"In all my life, I have never met a man like you, Pucci. I will not forget you."

"Nor will I, Dio."

"I'll return. I promise."

With that, Dio staggered out, and Pucci began cleaning the dead animal.

* * *

At fist, Pucci eagerly awaited news about Dio. As weeks turned into months, however, he thought about Dio less and less and became preoccupied with the flow of life. He married Jonathan and Erina. He gave his sermons on Sunday. His housekeeper retired, and he had to get acquainted with his new one. Wes phoned him for help in the dark of night when a minotaur broke down his door.

Come next spring, Jonathan and Erina took a cruise. The ship stank. Erina survived, but Jonathan was declared dead.

Dio's activities were unknown, and life went on. At times, he wondered if he had dreamed that night. Other times Pucci regretted not killing him when he realized the blond was a vampire. It became the mistake of his youth. Pucci had let a would be killer run fee. Was it not his job as a catholic to make the world a better place? Still, in his heart, he wanted to see Dio again, and Pucci knew this. Late at night, when his heart grew heavy from his troubles, he pondered what it would be like if the vampire returned. He would fantasize about the vampire being somehow able to take all his troubles. It left Pucci feeling foolish.

Dio didn't return until Pucci was thirty-four.

Pucci's father had died of a heart attack the year before, and to comfort his widowed mother, the priest had started to spend the night with her occasionally.

Life's cruel uncertainties still haunted him.

He was awoken in the middle of the night by the cry of a bat. Before him was Dio, and his heart skipped a beat.

The sight of him startled and awe Pucci. He didn't look like a vampire, but he looked angelic. His beauty was beyond words, and his mighty aura terrified Pucci. He was reminded of the night years ago when he was awoken by an angel of the Lord.

"I've returned, and I'm not the man I was before. I've learned and seen much." He stepped closer. "Pucci, do you believe in gravity?"


End file.
